Eye for an Eye (19 page)

‘Fucking hell.’

Kev looked up. He had seen many a sight, but he had never before seen his boss on the verge of throwing up.

‘I’m going to have that fucker’s balls,’ growled Robbie. ‘What did I tell you? I knew something was up. And tomorrow morning I’m going to see my lawyer and charge that fucker with vandalism.’

Kev stared at the mess around his feet, pleased at least that they would probably not be charged with forcing their way into a private residence. ‘Good on you, Robbie,’ he tried, then stepped outside and threw up.

‘We’re going to get that fucker’s stuff and toss it all out into the back. And d’you know what else we’re going to do? We’re going to have ourselves a bonfire, a right good fucking bonfire, Kev, old son. D’you hear?’

‘I hear you,’ Kev said, and threw up again.

CHAPTER 18

‘I’m in the Central,’ Gilchrist said. ‘Fancy a pint?’

‘Love to, boss. But that numbskull’s got us working all hours. And besides, you’re suspended. You know the rules.’

‘No one’ll miss you for five minutes.’

‘Want a bet? DeFiore’s got eyes in the back of his head. And there’s more coming up from Edinburgh.’

‘What about Sa?’

‘Hang on. I’ll go find her.’

Gilchrist sipped his Eighty Shilling. The bar was already filling up, and he was squeezed into a seat just inside the main door. From the street, he heard the sound of a scuffle, voices rising. He was back on his feet as Sa came on the line.

‘Some things’ll never change,’ she said.

‘What’s that?’

‘You having a pint.’

‘One of life’s few pleasures.’

On the road, a small crowd stood in a haphazard circle. Two drunks were grappling with each other, swinging wild punches, misaligned hits that connected with dulled effect.

‘Care to join me?’ he asked Sa.

‘I can’t. I’ve got all this—’

‘In that case I’d like to report a public disturbance,’ he said. ‘Market Street. Outside the Central.’ He held his mobile toward the scuffle for a few seconds, then returned it to his ear. ‘Did you hear that?’

‘Can’t you arrest—’

‘Nope. Suspended.’

Gilchrist disconnected and slipped his phone into his pocket. Sa would be livid. But no matter how many hours DeFiore had them working, she would have to respond to a public disturbance.

He pushed past a heavy-set spectator and stepped into the tussle. He grabbed the nearest battler by the hair, pulled him off his opponent, twisted his arm up his back and marched him onto the pavement.

He shoved him hard against the wall.

Out with the handcuffs. Click once, twice, and the guy looked in drunken disbelief at his wrist locked to the pub’s door handle.

His opponent swayed, chest heaving, the tip of his nose skinned and bloodied. Clenched fists swung by his side, as if demanding something to hit. Gilchrist approached him and sidestepped an arm that whipped in front of his face. Then he grabbed the flailing limb and twisted, pushing high and hard against the shoulder blades. The drunk gave out a dulled scream and fell to the ground like a lump of meat.

Gilchrist followed him down and dug his knee into the small of his back. He fought the short kick of resistance then felt the slump of defeat as the fight went out of the guy. He grabbed a handful of hair and jerked the head to the side.

Spittle slavered from bloodied lips in angry gasps. ‘My arm. You’re breaking my—’

‘Up.’

Gilchrist pulled the drunk to his feet and frog-marched him off the street. He thudded him against the pub wall and ordered him to stand. With only one set of handcuffs, it was not a good idea to lock the two together. So he waited.

The crowd began to move away, seemingly disappointed.

‘You you and you,’ snarled Gilchrist, pointing to three men who looked as if they had seen the bottom of a beer glass at breakfast and every hour since. ‘You’re witnesses.’ He pointed to a spot near the door. ‘Over there.’

Like trained dogs, they obeyed, and stood silent in their positions. A few minutes later, a police Transit van drew up, and the gathering dispersed like leaves in the wind.

The two fighters, now subdued and both handcuffed, were bundled into the back with barely a murmur. Sa appeared from College Street, a police radio at her ear. The witnesses were pointed out to her and she scribbled down their personal details and a brief witness summary. When she finished her preliminary interrogation, she instructed them to report to the Police Station to give a formal statement.

Approaching Gilchrist, she said, ‘Citizen’s arrest, was it?’

‘Keeping in touch.’ He nodded to the Central. ‘Beer’s getting warm,’ and returned inside. His pint stood on the table where he’d left it.

Sa sat down beside him.

‘Thirsty?’ he offered.

‘Can’t. I’m on duty.’

‘When did that ever stop you?’

‘DeFiore’s got us doing more door-to-door.’

‘Hard taskmaster, is he?’

‘Makes Patterson look like a clueless lump.’

‘Nothing’s changed then.’

Sa forced a smile.

‘How about a coffee?’ he asked.

‘Why not?’

Gilchrist ordered Sa’s coffee and carried it back to the table. As she took a sip, he was surprised to see her hands shake. The pressure to catch the Stabber had the entire east coast police force desperate for a breakthrough. And with the Scottish Crime Squad involved, others would be suffering likewise.

‘What happened to your hand?’ he asked her.

‘What?’

‘Your wrist. It’s bruised.’

Sa lifted her left arm and turned it around.

‘The other one.’

She studied two scrapes on the inside of her right wrist. ‘Must have knocked it jumping over Granton’s wall.’

‘Next time use the front door. It’s never locked.’

Sa’s smile failed to reach her eyes.

‘How long have you and Maggie been friends?’ he asked.

Sa took a shaky sip of coffee. ‘Why?’

‘She knew Alex Granton as a child. Did you know that?’

‘She grew up here.’

‘And you must have known Alex, too.’

‘Hardly at all. I never liked him.’

‘But you must have seen him around, spoken to him.’

‘Not for donkey’s.’

‘Remember when?’

‘What’s all this about?’

‘Alex Granton is also known as Fats Cockburn. You knew that, too. Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘What’s that got to do with the Stabber?’

Gilchrist pulled out Granton’s photograph and slid it across the table.

Sa stiffened. ‘Where did you get this?’

The venom in her voice surprised him. ‘From Fats,’ he said.

‘You spoke to him?’

‘Last night.’

‘Where?’

‘Glasgow.’

‘You visited him?’

‘Yes.’

A series of emotions shifted through Sa’s eyes until they stilled in a cold look Gilchrist had never seen in her. Then she picked up the photograph, ripped it in two, and slapped it onto the table with a smack loud enough for the barman to raise an eyebrow.

‘What do you think you’re playing at?’ she snapped.

Gilchrist pulled the two pieces of the photograph toward him and slid them together. Alex’s left arm had been ripped from his shoulder. How appropriate, he thought. But a pre-teen Maggie and her pet cat remained intact.

‘What happened to the cat’s face?’ he asked.

‘I’m still waiting for an answer.’

‘So am I.’

Sa glared at him. ‘Why are you doing this?’

‘I have an inquisitive nature.’

‘And that gives you the right to look into the past lives of my friends?’

‘Alex was your friend?’

‘You’re twisting my words, Andy. I won’t have it.’

He tried to disassociate Sa’s voice from his memories of irrational arguments with Gail. ‘Has anyone figured out why Bill Granton was embezzling from the bank?’

‘Who told you that?’

‘Pub talk.’

‘Name?’

‘You know I can’t give you names.’

‘And you know I could have you arrested for interfering with an ongoing investigation.’

‘But that would mean Granton’s embezzlement is linked to the Stabber case.’ He watched his rationale work its way through her mind, then leaned closer. ‘Is that what you think?’

‘I think you should stay out of it, is what I think.’

‘Alex said the cat was Maggie’s pet,’ he pressed on.

‘Don’t push it, Andy.’

He brushed a finger over the photograph. ‘So you don’t know what happened to its face?’

Sa jumped to her feet. ‘Stay out of my private life, Andy. You got that? Just stay the fuck out of it.’

The table wobbled as she stormed out.

Gilchrist pulled the photograph closer. What about it had made Sa react that way? The cat? Fats? Maggie? His snooping around? What? The image of the cat was too small, the quality too poor to scrutinize it in detail. But the sliver of an idea was shifting in his head.

‘All things are possible,’ he whispered to himself.

Beth locked the shop door.

Beside her, Cindy tightened her scarf around her neck and puffed her breath into gloved hands. ‘Look at it,’ she said. ‘Ten past six, and it’s pitch black.’

‘Only four weeks to Christmas.’

‘Don’t say that, Beth. I haven’t even thought about presents yet.’

‘Don’t worry. Neither have I.’ After the warm stuffiness of her novelty shop, the night air smelled fresh. Beth looked up at the dark skies. ‘It’s supposed to snow this evening,’ she said.

‘You’re full of good news, I must say,’ moaned Cindy. ‘I’m missing the summer nights already. I hope it warms up for the weekend. Stewart’s driving down from Inverness.’

‘Again?’

‘He says he loves me. But I know he’s only after my body.’ Cindy giggled. ‘I can hardly wait.’

‘How long has that been now?’

‘A year come January.’

‘Isn’t it about time you proposed?’

‘No way, José.’

Cindy was in her early twenties, a former student at St Andrews University who decided to take a year out. Three years ago. Since then, she had shown no desire to return to the penury of full-time study, preferring instead to work and date a string of well-to-do young men.

‘Talking about proposals,’ said Cindy. ‘That was a surprise seeing Andy again. Is it back on?’

Beth gave a tight smile. Cindy was broaching a subject that was out of bounds. Beth’s affair with Andy had lasted almost two years, but she could acknowledge only now that she had loved him. And for the duration, they had each lived on their own, Beth in her luxury flat in St Andrews, Andy in his restored fisherman’s cottage in Crail. Perhaps if he had moved in they would still be together ...

‘Did you tell Andy about that creep?’

‘He said he would look into it.’ Beth felt her skin crawl. ‘Just the thought of it—’

‘Forget about it.’

‘That’s easy to say.’

‘Did you see the way he ran? He couldn’t leave quick enough. He was scared we were going to call the police.’

‘Maybe he won’t be so scared next time.’

Cindy grabbed Beth’s arm. ‘What next time?’

Beth pulled her arm free and kept walking.

‘You think he’s going to come back?’ Cindy asked.

‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

They reached the entrance to Crail Lane, a narrow alley that connected South Street to Market Street. Beth halted as Cindy stepped into it.

‘Aren’t you coming?’ Cindy asked her.

Beth stared toward Market Street. The stone walls cast shadows like waiting figures. She shook her head. ‘I’m going to take the long way.’

Cindy glanced behind her then retreated.

As the echo of their departing voices died in the wind, out of the walled shadows stepped a man. Without a backward glance, he walked along the lane, stepped into the brightness and strode across Market Street like a single-minded madman. Two couples stepped to the side as he stalked past. One of the girls turned to watch and tapped a finger to her head.

But the man never noticed.

He crossed onto Union Street, then left onto North, and marched down the shallow incline toward the sand dunes and the dark expanse of the West Sands.

In the cold darkness he faced the sea, erect penis in hand. The only way to appease his pain was to have her. He knew that now. And as his sperm spurted into the wind like thin strips of white ribbon, he whispered to the surf, ‘Yes, Mother. I’ll do as you say.’

CHAPTER 19

Cindy waved goodnight at the corner of Bell Street then set off with brisk steps to prepare for her date with Stewart. As Beth watched her leave, the thought of going home to an empty flat sent a shiver through her. She felt an overpowering need to talk to someone and, on impulse, pulled out her mobile phone.